The Great Khalessi (GoT Fanfic)

10 - Go Out With a Bang

Ser Gerold Hightower, known as the White Bull, was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, a knight of House Hightower. From a young age, he knew that knighthood was the only path to secure his family's survival. Lacking the political finesse needed to gain the King's favor, his family relied on him to navigate the treacherous waters of the court. Since the reign of King Jaehaerys II, Ser Gerold had served as commander, faithfully upholding his vows through the reign of two very different kings.

The death of King Jaehaerys had marked the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty's descent into madness. Despite seeing little hope in King Aerys, Ser Gerold remained out of loyalty to his vows. Yet, in Prince Rhaegar, he saw the shadow of a great king, reminiscent of the one to whom he had first sworn his sword. When Rhaegar had asked for the Commanding Sword of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold had given it willingly, pledging his sword to the prince he believed was the rightful king.

Now, standing in the dim light of the Red Keep, Ser Gerold forced himself to remain calm as he faced King Aerys. The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of burning incense, a sharp contrast to the tension that hung between them. Aerys's eyes were bright, almost feverish, as he studied the Lord Commander with a predator's gaze.

"Ser Gerold," King Aerys's voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

Ser Gerold turned slowly, his movements measured, betraying none of the turmoil roiling within him. "Your Grace?"

"I noticed you sent a letter by bird," Aerys said, his tone deceptively casual as he lounged in his chair, one hand absently playing with the hilt of his dagger. "A message to your family, perhaps?"

Ser Gerold's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral, his hands clasped behind his back to hide any tremor. "Yes, Your Grace," he replied evenly. "I was congratulating my brother on the birth of his youngest granddaughter. They sought my opinion on a name for her."

Aerys's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And what name did you suggest?"

"Margery, Your Grace," Ser Gerold answered, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. "It means pearl, her mother's favorite jewel."

"Ah, yes, your favorite niece, Alerys Hightower," Aerys said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Ser Gerold's face. "The one you hid from me, who was married to that oafish-looking man. Remind me, what was his name?"

Ser Gerold's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he forced himself to meet the king's gaze with unwavering calm. "Sire, I would never think so lowly of Your Grace," he said carefully. "You are an honorable king."

That was what Ser Gerold said, but beneath his words of flattery lay a deep-seated disgust. The truth was that King Aerys's disinterest in his young niece had less to do with the propriety of avoiding alliances with powerful houses and more to do with his refusal to entangle himself with any house that might challenge his dominance. His reluctance to marry his son to Cersei Lannister was driven by similar calculations—Tywin Lannister already held the position of Hand, a testament to the power he wielded.

Despite the king's bouts of madness, Ser Gerold understood the logic behind his actions all too well. He had been there, witnessing Aerys grow up alongside his father, and had seen firsthand the intricate dance of power and control. The king's strategy to maintain the realm's balance was clear: by never favoring any single house, he preserved the Targaryen bloodline while preventing any other house from rising too high.

The king chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down Ser Gerold's spine. "Hush, I'm not looking for fault with you," Aerys waved his hand dismissively, his eyes narrowing in mock consideration. "I simply ask you to refresh my memory."